Mr D
by Heart Iconography
Summary: (AU) A slow burn in which Dean is the barely qualified auto-repair teacher for the senior class of Lawrence high, and Castiel is 17 year old with sad eyes.
1. Mr D's First Day

It was Dean Winchester's first day on the job - the job that Bobby had somehow managed to wrangle for him, the one that he was only qualified for in the loosest sense of the term, and the one that he just couldn't seem to get it up for at the moment.

The new auto teacher for the senior class at Lawrence High. Sighing, he dragged a hand over his weary face. The near empty classroom echoed the noise back at him. Sure, Dean was good with cars. He'd been working on them his whole life, and his only functional loving relationship was with a car. But students... little humans, though not so much littler than him, looking up to him as a role model, asking him questions that required answers - and those answers requiring PG language... what the hell did he know about any of that?

Sure, one would think basically raising his younger brother Sammy that Dean would've had some know-how when it came to dealing with teenagers. Of course, those people would be forgetting that Sammy came out with some sort of weird-ass perfection gene that seemed to have missed himself and his father completely. All Dean had really had to do was co-exist with Sam - in fact, he had caught his brother parenting him at times.

Dean was broken out of his thoughts by the shrill ring of the bell and his students beginning to file in. Standing awkwardly by his desk he tried to figure out how he had gotten here - he hadn't even graduated from a high school and know he was teaching in one. The students sat themselves, talking not-so-quietly to one another, throwing the occasional glance his way. After the second bell rang, Dean gave a couple more minutes for mercy of any late kids, and then walked in front of his desk.

The kids, however, did not seem to notice him moving and continued to talk amongst themselves. Dean loudly cleared his throat, hoping that would draw their attention, but they seemed less impressed with him somehow - a jock somewhere in the back row cleared his throat mockingly. _That little punk._

"HEY!" Dean shouted, "CAN IT, WOULD YA?"

_Silence._

That was more like it.

"For those of you who don't know me, which would be all of you, my name is Dean Winchester - but you can call me Mr. D," Dean said with a big smile, hoping to God whatever he was saying was translating to the youth of today.

"_Dude_," a boy with shaggy hair poking out for under a knit beanie laughed, "do you _really_ want us to call you that?"

The only four girls in the class laughed, their eyes immediately sweeping downward Dean's crotch area. He grimaced, immediately realizing his mistake.

"Damn it! Okay - you know what, screw it, just call me Dean. The faculty will love that, but what the hell, right?" he said, dragging a hand through his sandy hair. "Welcome to automotive repair. How many of you have ever worked on a car before?"

No hands. Whether or not none of these kids had actually ever touched a car, or none of them wanted to be singled out on the first day, Dean couldn't tell. He hoped for the sake of the headache already building behind his eyes that it was the latter.

"God, what have your father's been teaching you?" Dean said more to himself than to his students.

"Are you referring to those of us with absentee fathers, alcoholic fathers, or the more rare of us with two moms?" a girl wearing all black in the back of the class quipped, causing a few wry chuckles from her classmates. For a moment Dean felt a warm pang of affection for his father, despite all his varied flaws.

"Okay, kids, a car is like... a woman," Dean smiled roguishly, "if you treat her right and listen to her then she'll always be loyal to you. However, if you're not careful, she'll suck you dry and leave you stranded on the side of the road - probably in the rain because -"

The classroom door opened, derailing Dean's slightly inappropriate tirade. A somewhat scrawny teenage boy tripped over himself entering the room - whether it was over his own feet or the tails of a tan trench coat that was a couple inches too long for him, Dean couldn't tell.

"I-I'm sorry to have interrupted the lecture," the boy spoke, the depth of his voice boggling Dean's mind - weren't these kids' beans still dropping? -, "I do not have a slip, but I can assure you it will not happen again."

"It's okay, uh..." Dean said, realizing he had not done the introduction game that had been suggested by a fellow teacher and therefore had no idea who any of the kids were - not even the shy one with bright blue eyes staring at him speculatively.

"Castiel. Castiel Novak," he said.

Dean went to say something in response but was cut off by the ignorant throat-clearing jock from earlier.

"Castiel is our resident fag!" he said, making his buddies in the back row laugh.

Dean clenched his fist, wanting nothing more than to knock the kid's teeth into the back of his throat.

"Get out of my classroom," Dean said in a low voice - the room dropped deathly silent.

"But everybody knows he's a total -" the kid argued.

"Get out - hell, switch classes, I don't care but this isn't going to fly here. We're here to talk about cars, and maybe if you weren't so focused on other people's sexuality you might actually learn something."

The other kid grumbled something about teachers not being able to talk to students like that and walked out of the room. It only occurred to Dean then that he should've sent him to the principal's office, and the kid now had a free period because of him -_ the little piece of shit_ - but live and learn.

"Thank you," Castiel said softly, a resigned sadness in his eyes. "But that was not necessary."

Without waiting for a response, Castiel took a seat near the front and immediately got his book out, ready to take notes. Dean felt a surge of protectiveness over the poor kid. Dean had never seen anyone look so out of place in a school - and he had went to class with some stone cold weirdos. He decided then and there that he would keep an eye out for him, and make sure everything was copacetic for the kid as the year progressed.

"Okay, so some of the lifers here gave me the whole Introduction Game where you tell me your names, and your interests - but I remember how much I hated that crap. So I'm just going to read your name, and if you're here, say _here_ or _present_, or hell you could even make some sort of affirmative sound, I don't really care. I just need to take attendance."


	2. Pious Pathways

"So, how was your first day? Did you make any new friends?" Sam asked jokingly.

"Dude," Dean groaned into his phone, "It's just so frustrating. Half the kids in the class only took it because it's supposed to be an easy pass - none of the kids either know or will admit to knowing anything about cars. And this one complete _asshole_ - and I know it's wrong to call a kid an asshole, but Sammy - he just called this kid a _fag_ right in front of me and the whole class like it was okay. The poor kid's already got a weird name - Castiel, can you even imagine that? And he's obviously just really out of his element and awkward... and man, why are kids so terrible? Seriously, Sammy, how is it possible that high school is actually worse than I remember it?"

"Because you're actually attending a class, I would guess," he laughed.

"Okay, smart-ass, how have _your _classes been? Are you a hot shot lawyer yet?"

"You know I still have a long while before I'm a lawyer, Dean," Sam sighed.

"I think you're just staying there for all the parties," he retorted. "Help your poor brother out. Tell me about the girls. Spare no detail."

"Instead of me telling you about the girls, how about you - oh, I don't know - actually find one for yourself?"

"Ugh, hard pass," Dean replied. "I still have psychological scars from my last girlfriend."

"Pretty sure those were there before Lisa," Sam laughed.

"Bitch."

"Jerk," replied Sam.

Neither said goodbye, but both hung up at almost the exact same time. _Brothers, _Dean thought with a snort.

Later that night in the quiet of his small apartment, Dean couldn't help but to play his day over again in his head. He hadn't known if going to the Principal afterwards about the incident had been the right move, but what if no one had known this was going on? The Principal, like all Principals Dean had known in his life, did nothing but try to placate the situation. He had promised to let the boy's parents know about the situation and to check in with Castiel to make sure everything was okay.

Still, Dean wasn't happy. It was a much more hands-off approach than he was used to. Thinking back to when Sammy had just started high school and some kids had been picking on him for wearing hand me down clothing that was already a little too small for his towering frame, Dean had said nothing to his father. He had simply kicked the shit out of the kids - but he was a teacher now, and that probably wasn't okay to do. Even if the kid was a total asshole. Which he was.

Just a total _asshole._

* * *

When Castiel had gotten home he knew something was wrong because instead of his mother greeting him, it was his Father. After years of constantly falling short of his expectations and plans, he had learned to notice the tell tale signs of trouble - the wrinkled forehead, the furrowed brow, the slightly mussed hair. He felt his stomach drop and knew in his bones something was wrong.

"Castiel, can you come join me in the living room? We need to have a little heart to heart," his Father said, leading Castiel by his arm without waiting for a reply.

"O-of course, Father. Is everything alright? I feel like something is amiss. What's going on?"

"Please, take a seat," his Father said sternly, "Castiel, we thought your problems were now a thing of the past."

Shifting uncomfortably in the expensive white chaise lounge his parents had purchased last year, the one that he was always afraid he would get dirty even when he was clean, Castiel tried to avoid eye contact.

"Father," he replied softly, "I cannot help what others are going to say about me. I have done nothing but study and pray - I talk to no one... I have no wish to even make friends. I do not know what else I can do."

His mother, as usual, was absent from the conversation. When things got a little sticky, or too real, she liked to shut herself off in the kitchen - scrubbing and cooking. Where she had control. Castiel knew how she felt, except he turned to books.

"I am not unsympathetic to your plight. I know high school can be a rough time, especially with the rise of the unrighteous. But we do have an image to uphold. I'm a pastor - of all the things, I cannot have people going around saying my son is..."

His father couldn't say it. Had never said it, not in all these years.

"I understand, Father. I'll try harder. I will figure it out," Castiel said, trying his best to reassure his father - cursing the auto-repair teacher for clearly having went to the principal about an issue that had been (much to Castiel's relief) largely ignored.

"If things don't improve by the end of the year, your mother and I are considering deferring your first year of college and sending you back to Pious Pathways."

Castiel felt panic grip at his chest. Pious Pathways was hell on Earth. It was a camp meant to help young men find their way back to their heterosexuality. Their methods were less than traditional, and still sometimes haunted Castiel during his sleep. He was not going back there.

"I understand your concern, Father, but it won't come to that. I promise you," Castiel said, forcing a smile on his face.

Going up to his room after his Father dismissed him, Castiel worried about tomorrow. Hopefully no one would say anything in Mr. Winchester's class again - and worst come to absolute worst, Castiel could talk to him, maybe. Convince him that coming to his aid only painted a bigger bulls eye on his back. He would understand, wouldn't he?


End file.
